


Palladion

by Theri



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Impregnation, Marriage Proposal, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theri/pseuds/Theri
Summary: A retelling of Heavensward centered around Haurchefant and the Warrior of Light.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	1. Rosé

**Author's Note:**

> I would just like to start this off with this warning: This piece is very unorganized and each chapter is pretty random in terms of timeline. This is because my thoughts are A Mess™ when it comes to my favorite Elezen boy. The events of Heavensward left me rattled to the point where I actually kinda stopped eating for a day or two due to how depressed I was??? We all know which event I'm talking about. Btw the wine is actually made of roses, I just named the chapter Rosé because it sounds fancy lol it's not that I forgot to add the accent to the e at the end.  
> Also: this contains MAJOR Heavensward spoilers. I am not kidding. If you haven't played through HW yet, no matter how thirsty you are for Haurchefant, please don't read this.

The light of the hearth casts a faint glow that washes over the woman as she leans over the sand table and pours Haurchefant a cup of rose wine. Her eyelashes catch some of the light, showing to him how long and pretty they are. Frankly, he hadn’t expected them to be anything special; the pink-haired Miqo’te had been the talk of Coerthas (“They call her the ‘Warrior of Light’ in the Alliance,” “She went right up to the House Hailenarte guard-post station and took a nap in the bed! Right in front of everyone there!” “She’s slain primals before,” “She started a snowball fight at the Observatorium.”), but when she walked through his doors, the Elezen man had been surprised at how modest she looked.

Of course, in a place like Coerthas, she sticks out like a sore thumb. Haurchefant can’t remember the last time he’d seen a Miqo’te in person. But aside from that, she seems…normal. Rubbing at her nose as she shuffled through the doorway a month ago, snow clinging to her robe and boots. She’s a small thing too--standing at full height, she only goes up to his midsection or so. Still, Haurchefant has known from the moment he laid his eyes on her that she is a warrior through and through.

Yet now, when the night is young and she is here pouring him a glass of wine, just the two of them…. “I just wanted to give you a token of my gratitude,” she purrs, “for all that you’ve done.”

For some reason, his heart seems to jump. Her praise bestows some kind of elation he can’t recall feeling since he was but a fledgling knight. But instead of grinning from ear-to-ear like he wants to, the House Fortemps knight offers her a cool smile as he knits his fingers together and rests his chin on them. “Please, there is no need to thank me. _You_ are the one who brought about change.” He frowns softly. “Had you not come, Francel would likely be rotting at the bottom of Witchdrop by now.”

“Would he really be rotting?” she replies, not looking up from the table. “I’m pretty sure his corpse would just freeze.”

The two share a grim chuckle before Haurchefant beckons her to sit down. He notes with interest the way she neatly folds her tail next to her so it presses snugly against her left thigh. She seems to always be keenly aware of her tail. Long and fluffy, you can see it from half a malm away. The Warrior of Light obviously feels a lot of pride for her tail. Her ears on the other hand…. _She_ does _have ears, right?_ He’d asked around Camp Dragonhead for any testimonies of her without her hat, but no one could provide one.

The Elezen man exhales softly as he takes a drink of the wine. Its fragrant richness leaves a comfortable buzz on his tongue. “Pray come and remove your hat,” he coaxes. “You’ve been wearing it for quite some time, no? Let one of my menders see to it.”

She shakes her head. “Sorry, but I must decline.” She doesn’t elaborate and he doesn’t press on the matter further. Her attire is of respectable quality, other than the hat of course. It’s just a simple hempen hat--one found pretty much anywhere in Eorzea.

He offers her a glass of the wine and she accepts with a smile. Why does the sight of it affect him so? “Do you enjoy alcohol?” he asks.

She pauses for a moment after taking a sip to mull over his words. “I don’t mind it in moderation. A nice glass of wine is just what I need after trudging across the Coerthan highlands all day. Ale and similar drinks, however, aren’t to my taste.” Virrah chuckles. “Of course, when you’re from Limsa, all there is is ale. They had a song and dance for it, too, but I can’t remember the words.” Her expression dampens a little. “It’s been a while since I’ve been home.”

Haurchefant runs his index finger in circles around the rim of the glass, feeling the cool surface against his skin. “What do you miss the most about it?” Thoughts of Ishgard don’t usually enter his mind. On the occasion where he _does_ think about his father or brothers, it’s only a passing thought before his attention is grabbed by whatever task that needs to be done. Frankly, he’s just too busy to feel homesick.

She stifles a yawn. “Dunno. It’s just the feeling of home. Going to the Drowning Wench and talking with Baderon for a bit before retiring to my room. Limsa may not be where I grew up, but it feels far more like home to me than the town I _did_ grow up in.” Virrah chuckles. “Besides, everyone there is a character. You see all sorts of adventurers and whatnot running around. A lot of Miqo’te girls in swimsuits as well. There’s never a moment of boredom in Limsa.”

 _Have you ever worn one? A swimsuit?_ But he bites his tongue and instead nods his head in acknowledgement of her words. He hasn’t worn swimming garments since before the Calamity. Before the frost came and stole away the Coerthas he used to know. He was already older than she is now at the time of the Calamity, yet the grassy plains of Coerthas still feel like a distant memory. Like a dream. He shivers.

Virrah tilts her head to the side. “?”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “I just felt a draft.”

She laughs. “For an Ishgardian, you sure don’t deal with the cold well.”

“Well Coerthas wasn’t always like this. The snow came following the Calamity.”

“Hm.” She touches her cheek. “Were you Ishgardians always this way? Even before the snow?”

Haurchefant chuckles. “I’m afraid so. My countrymen have never been renowned for their friendliness.”

The Miqo’te Summoner stands up from the chair and brushes nonexistent dust off her robes. She grasps the bottle of rose wine and re-corks it, smirking at her companion’s sullen expression. But Haurchefant must admit that it _is_ getting late. The Elezen boy she travels with--Alphinaud, is it?--is sure to make a fuss if the Warrior of Light sets off in the morning exhausted. _Tomorrow she leaves._ Why does he want her to stay so badly?

“That’s my favorite part of this place,” she purrs, her mismatched eyes glimmering in the shadows of the fire’s light, “the people. Almost everywhere I go, people immediately trust me as a former Scion of the Seventh Dawn. Meanwhile the people of Coerthas are reserved. I have to _earn_ their trust.” Her gaze meets his. “It’s so much better when you have to work for it.”

The Elezen’s breath catches in his throat for a moment as he drowns in her eyes. _Sweet Halone, I’m in love with her. Oh gods. Oh fuck._ Though he _is_ a Greystone. A bastard. It wouldn’t reflect too poorly on the Fortemps family name if he were to-- He shakes his head to banish such an absurd thought. She has much more important things to do than stay here with him. Besides, this night is drawing to a close. The wine is corked; the hearth grows dim. She shall leave, and in the morn he will once again resume his duties at Camp Dragonhead. Fighting a war of attrition against an enemy all but immune to time.

Virrah stifles a yawn, immune to his inner turmoil. “Anyway, we’d best call it a night. Garuda isn’t going to stop itself.”

“Y-Yes, quite,” he replies as she turns toward the broad doors. Haurchefant watches in silence as the Miqo’te woman exits into the snow. She will be back. Eventually. That, he knows. It may not be for a long time, but she will still be back. And maybe next time it will be under better circumstances.


	2. Emerald and Citrine

The circumstances are certainly not better. It was supposed to be just another day at Camp Dragonhead. Aye, and it would have been had Alphinaud not burst through the doors, his face flushed with exertion typically absent from his calm mien. “Ser Haurchefant,” he says quickly before the guards can get a word in edgewise, “The Scions are in trouble. Please…we need your help.”

Admittedly, his first thought is not of Eorzea--but rather of Virrah Louve. A sharp pang of concern gnaws at him. If Alphinaud of all people looks this distraught begging for help, something is clearly awry. It is only after the tale is told in full that he folds his arms in contemplation, the image of a picturesque leader. Alphinaud may be accomplished and strong, but he is still a child. Right now, it is up to Haurchefant to be the bastion of reliability. “You’ve done well making it this far,” he assures the Elezen boy. “Please, take a moment’s rest to warm up by one of our fires. I’ll get you some food as well.” As Alphinaud is led away, Haurchefant returns back to his chair and waits in anxious anticipation for the Warrior of Light.

She walks slowly into the structure with all the grace and poise of a frostbitten chocobo with a broken leg. Her movements are mechanical and rehearsed without thought as her eyes stare blankly into space. No light of recognition enters her gaze, but she’s walking right up to him so she  _ must  _ know he’s there, right? Haurchefant clears his throat; it’s best to just act like he has her undivided attention for now. “Alphinaud has told me everything, and I’m extremely flattered that your first consideration for seeking refuge is House Fortemps. Please, warm yourself by the fire.” It is going to be a very long day.

* * *

In all honesty, Haurchefant cannot stop the pang of shame that runs through him at the secret glee of being able to show the Warrior of Light his family home and city.  _ She is grieving the murder of a friend. Not to mention she’s here in exile having been framed for said murder. _ He shouldn’t be feeling any sort of positive emotions whatsoever, but unfortunately his heart believes otherwise. 

In an attempt to somehow even partially alleviate her woes, he tries to make small talk. “We’ll be in Ishgard soon. Don’t worry; you shouldn’t feel too cramped. It’s at least as big as each of the three city-states--or at least that’s what I’ve heard.”

She doesn’t so much as blink. Haurchefant reaches his hand out to rest comfortingly on her shoulder, but draws it away. He feels that she’ll break under his touch. The Miqo’te is hollow, held together by a rubber band stretched to its limit. Just the slightest bit of added tension and she’ll crumble into pieces. There is nothing he can do for her.

Haurchefant’s frustration builds as the carriage continues across the Gates of Judgment. Consternation and anger wage war in his chest, reminiscent of all the times he has paced back and forth in Camp Dragonhead, awaiting news of the outcome of Virrah’s latest reckless exploit. The Elezen practically explodes outside the moment the chauffeur opens the door. 

Virrah slowly makes her way to the door before faltering. Alphinaud, having appeared from the other carriage along with Tataru, grasps her hand to keep her from stumbling. The teen helps her down slowly and deliberately as her legs tremble. A vivid memory flashes before Haurchefant’s eyes--of his mother, many years ago. The stewards would help her dismount the carriage as he waited for her, his young mind yet oblivious to her frailty. She was thin frost over a lake, unable to bear the weight of so much as a chinchilla. Near the end, they practically had to carry her off. Sweet Halone, he has seen his mother waste away before his eyes. He could not bear it if the same were to happen to Virrah.

“Please excuse me,” he says to the three. “I’m afraid I have some business to attend to, but one of the stewards shall give you a tour of the city. I’ll see you back at the manor when I am finished.”

He glances behind himself to make sure they aren’t attempting to follow, but only sees Tataru and Alphinaud fussing over the Warrior of Light. Haurchefant bites his cheek until blood trickles onto his tongue; it is only the pain that keeps him in check--that keeps him from running over to her and holding her in his arms, onlookers be damned.

Inside the Forgotten Knight, Gibrillont pours the illegitimate lord some mulled wine to drink his troubles away. The mustachioed former knight raises an eyebrow in intrigue. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve last seen  _ you _ here, Ser Haurchefant. Further still since you were alone.”

He waves a hand dismissively before taking a deep swig. “Please. Aymeric is busy at his post and Francel is too stressed these days to allow himself a reprieve from his duties.”

Gibrillont chuckles. “Aye, that he is. All the Haillenarte children were serious, but young Francel took it to another level. It’s clear to see he hasn’t changed all these winters later.” His amusement fades quickly, replaced by a more sobering expression. “So? Who is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Haurchefant scoffs, though he cannot keep the blush from his cheeks. If it’s any consolation, there isn’t a single soul in the tavern that isn’t red-faced--either from alcohol or the cold. 

Gibrillon laughs. “Say what you want, but I’ve dealt with countless young pining men like yourself.” A corner of his lip quirks upward in amusement. “I must admit, though, I did not expect to see you of all people struggling amidst the throes of love.”

Haurchefant finally looks the bartender in the eye as he looks up from his mug. “?”

The brunette sighs as he grabs a glass and begins to wash it down with a cloth. “I basically saw you and Lord Francel grow up, you know. Initially as a knight of House Haillenarte, and then as this tavern’s master. You two were never far behind Ser Aymeric, even in your youth. Francel I remember was often stressed about his relationship with the ladies, and even Aymeric had one or two that he pined over. Yet never you, Haurchefant. Anyone who says you’re not handsome is a liar, and pretty much everyone is well aware of how some of the young ladies chased after you before the good Count sent you to Camp Dragonhead.” His gaze glances over to meet Haurchefant’s momentarily before he returns to his washing. “You never entertained a single one of them, though.”

The blue-haired Elezen smirks to himself in memories of days long past. “If you haven’t noticed, Gibrillont, my presence tends to invite discord towards any noblewoman who might attempt to court me. No one wants their daughter fornicating with a bastard.

The tavern master scowls. “Aye, you make a good point.” His expression returns to one of amusement. “So this lass you’re pinin’ after must be something real special then. What’s she like? Tall? Long ears? Short ears?”

Haurchefant’s thoughts again turn to Virrah as he suppresses a smile. “Very short, actually. Probably the shortest woman I’ve ever seen. Extremely cute, but it’s easy to overlook her due to her modest dress. And her eyes…. They’re like emerald and citrine.”

Gibrillont raises an eyebrow. “Short and with mismatched eyes, eh? She sounds like the strangest Elezen I’ve ever heard of.”

Haurchefant doesn’t bother with an answer, but rather chuckles.  _ Indeed, if she were an Elezen, she’d be a rather strange one. _ After their initial meeting before she left to slay Garuda, he’d read up on the Miqo’te people. Virrah was the first of her kind he’d met and the accomplished knight realized he knew embarrassingly little of Miqo’te and their ways. In some ways, she fits into the books’ narrative, such as her appearance. Others, such as her name, are noticeably different from those listed on the pages.

Thinking of her, however, soon brings his somber mood back. The blue-haired Elezen scowls as he drinks from the mug. Gibrillont is known to keep secrets for nobles and commonfolk alike. Surely he can be trusted? Finally, the younger Elezen clears his throat. “She was…hurt recently. Not physically, but rather mentally. Even so, the blow was clearly devastating. I want so badly to comfort her, to make her feel safe again….” He squeezes the handle of the mug hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “But there is nothing I can do. I…I feel like a child again, watching my mother waste away before my eyes. I cannot bear her sharing the same fate.”

Gibrillont makes a small, “Hum,” as he continues doing miscellaneous tasks around the bar. Finally, he slows to a stop and sighs. “I expected a whopper of a story as soon as I saw your face, but sheesh. You always know how to exceed expectations.” They make eye contact. “I’m afraid I don’t have any advice for you. All I can say is figure out what you want: the lass to be yours, or the lass to be free. Granted, that depends on her social station, but if she’s a noblewoman then you have to decide if her love is worth the rejection of her family. If she’s a commoner, then you’re in luck. You may be a bastard, but you’re still the son of Count Fortemps.”

Haurchefant’s fist pounds against the table in frustration, though it goes unnoticed in the din of the tavern. “That’s my problem,” he confesses. “Our love would only shun her from Ishgard, yet when I’m with her I lose all sense. I volunteer to spend time with her, overtly flirt with her, all of it! And now when she’s in desperate need of a place to accept her, I can’t tear that away from her.”

Gibrillont turns around to check the shelves, his back turned to Haurchefant. Still faced away from him, he says, “Perhaps it’s not a place she needs, but rather a person.”

Haurchefant chews on the older man’s words in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to beat myself over the head with a stick and force myself to write this in chronological order, so the summary will be changed. This is now more of a retelling of Heavensward with some canon divergence because a: I can't be bothered to meticulously recheck all of HW's events to make sure I have it all exactly as it went in the game and b: I want them to eventually bone and that's obviously not shown in the game so fuck it, imma go crazy and just put what I want in it. I'm an unapologetic Haurchefucker so this is just me having fun. Also mentions of Francel in this chapter because I'm also a bit of a Francel fucker oof.
> 
> On the bright side, I have a lot of future chapters already written, so I basically just need to fill in the gap chapters between.


	3. Discipline

“I wish you could’ve seen Ishgard in her prime, before the attack,” he says as the pair walk around the Vigil. Virrah barely gives any indication she heard him. The Miqo’te leans against the stone railing overlooking the Sea of Clouds, her tail swishing back and forth pensively. Haurchefant’s eyebrows knit; she’s been spending far too much time doing this as of late.

She lets out a little sigh, her voice soft and unusually absent of grief. “Hey, what do you think it’s like inside the Sea of Clouds?” The brim of her hat obscures her facial expression from him. “I think…I’d like to just jump into the Sea of Clouds. Nobody could probably find me there.” The pink-haired Miqo’te lets out a quiet snort. “I could just be Virrah Louve. Not Virrah Louve, the Warrior of Light.”

“If you were to jump into the Sea of Clouds, I would follow you without a moment’s hesitation.” The words flee his mouth before he can stop them. Only then does Virrah look at him, her eyes unreadable. Well, not unreadable--rather he sees  _ something _ in her eyes; Haurchefant just doesn’t understand what. All he knows is that it makes his throat constrict and his stomach fill with butterflies. The Elezen laughs in an awkward attempt to lighten the mood.  _ Think, you idiot. How do I play this off?  _ “You must admit I’ve improved in the art of joke telling.”

She glares at him. “It didn’t sound like a joke.”

His cheeks glow red with shame. “I suppose it was rather thoughtless of me. My apologies.” If he didn’t know any better, he would think she seems almost disappointed.  _ Like she would actually desire my affections. _ After all, Aymeric is plain regarding his intrigue with her; she’d be a fool not to pursue him. Even if no matter who she accepts the affections of, such a relationship is sure to never last. No matter how long his feelings last or how brightly they continue to burn, Haurchefant knows she cannot be his. Besides, he has a war to fight in--same as his father, his father’s father, and all the men of the Fortemps line dating back to a thousand years ago.

He has struggled his entire life to live up to his father’s expectations. Haurchefant was born a bastard; Count Edmont de Fortemps had no obligation to acknowledge him whatsoever. Yet he clearly loves his son--has loved him since the day he was born, and Haurchefant spent his entire youth trying to live up to that love. He had no time to be distracted by the fairer sex, or even the same sex. Ishgard’s policy on such relationships is obviously in favor of forbidding them, but surely the gods won’t mind a few minutes in the military bunks after lights out. Surely they won’t mind some intimate touching, or gazes that linger too long. Hands that caress ever so slightly upon passing before vanishing back out into the snow. Haurchefant had spent many a sleepless night staring blankly in the darkness trying to ignore the occasional, muted moan. He’d been propositioned a few times by men in his unit, too, but each time he had declined. Such things are for men with lighter loads on their shoulders.

He should be taking her shopping, or perhaps enjoying a meal together. Something pleasant to take her mind off of things. But such things are better suited to Emmanellain. “I’m sorry,” he suddenly blurts out. “All I know is how to be a knight. I can’t think of ways to make you feel better.”

She brushes past him, her warmth sending a shiver of longing up his spine. Is she wearing perfume? He did not peg her as the type. It’s different from the kind worn by Ishgardian noblewomen; the scent reminds him of Coerthas when he was a child. Haurchefant’s mouth feels arid as he struggles to speak. Perhaps he should have a chat with Emmanellain later. 

“That’s not true.” The Warrior of Light offers him a smile, though it is obviously for his sake. “You also know how to be a good friend.”

_ Ah, a friend _ . When did it start to hurt hearing it leave her lips? Haurchefant has no right to complain; he is the one who started using the word, after all. Yet coming from her, it sounds like both a blessing and a curse. Better a friend to her than nothing at all, yet that’s still not good enough for him. “I just wish I knew a better way to spend our shared time,” the Elezen says finally. “As you know, I’m due back at Camp Dragonhead come morrow. It will be a little while before we see each other again.”

Virrah peers over the side of the stone walkway down to the Brume below. Impoverished children sit huddled by the walls, too cold to so much as find the energy to move. Haurchefant grimaces; he is proud of Ishgard and all she stands for, but no city is without its ugliness. She grasps his hand and tugs him towards the wooden walkway descending into the Brume. “Then I have a wonderful idea for how to spend our time.”

Haurchefant follows the Miqo’te as she takes firewood out of her bag. He has already learned not to ask exactly what she keeps in there, for it is seemingly as varied as the patterns etched in the snowflakes that frost over his window every morning. She goes to pass out the wood to anyone nearby, and they all accept. He knows it is only because it’s Virrah offering that they agree; she has charisma like that.

A haggard woman glances over at the Elezen lord mistrustfully. “Is he your escort or something? Worried you’ll contract poverty from us?”

Virrah looks back at him as they share a gaze. “No, he’s a friend.” 

He nods; he knows what she wants just from a look. Haurchefant goes over to the Forgotten Knight and orders a generous amount of bread and dried meat before returning. Virrah gives him a smile as the denizens of the Brume line up to take both firewood and food. Her tail brushes against the back of his legs affectionately. He finds himself sporting a similar smile as they work in tandem. It is not how he had intended to spend the day, but he’s not surprised. The Warrior of Light is never one for rest, no matter the situation.

Still, the cold is relentless, and it is only a matter of time before she starts sneezing. The Elezen finally manages to drag her away and drapes a scarf around her neck and shoulders. She clasps it with her small hands and exhales a cloud of fog. “Even your scarves have your family crest?” she asks incredulously, a disbelieving smirk pulling at her lips.

He lets out a small, embarrassed cough into his arm. “It was the only one I had on my person.” He raises an eyebrow and offers her a simper. “Why? Does it make you unhappy to bear the crest of House Fortemps? You’re our ward; it is only natural for you to wear something of such significance.”

She buries her chin into the scarf in an attempt to obscure as much of her blushing face as possible. “No, no, that’s not it at all. I’m happy to wear it.” Her eyes darken as that wretched sadness begins to creep into her gaze once more. “I’m too happy, in fact….”

The streetlights illuminate her like one of Halone’s messengers, yet Haurchefant cannot enjoy the sight. Not when she looks so downcast. He takes her hand in his own, hoping somehow it mitigates the cold. “Why must you always look so sad?” the Elezen asks gently. “It’s like whenever you start to feel happy, you force it away. You weren’t like this back at Camp Dragonhead.”

She turns her head away from him, her body language withdrawn. “Things happen, Haurchefant. People change. I may not have changed, but I did realize that I’ve been an awful person all along.” Virrah’s voice grows thick as she speaks before her voice fades in a note of bitterness.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Haurchefant tilts her chin up towards him and uses his thumb to catch a stray tear trickling down her cheek. “Please, what is it that troubles you so? You know I would listen to anything you have to say.”  _ You imbecile, _ his mind chides.  _ You’re right in the middle of the Vigil. The guards can see you. The people can see you. What would they think? You-- _

He doesn’t care. Haurchefant finds that he doesn’t care in the slightest. Virrah meets his gaze for a few precious moments before looking away. The moment is shattered. He clears his throat and withdraws his hand. “Remember, you have a friend in me. Shall you decide to divulge your worries, I am always willing to listen.” He hopes she does not notice the red clinging to his face.

Thankfully, it seems like she’s in another world as she mumbles a quick, “Mm, if you’ll excuse me,” and speaks to a guard to enter the mansion. Haurchefant makes awkward eye contact with the guards, aware that his little gesture had been seen by all of them. If there is any consolation, at least there were no bystanders around to see it. He heads off in the other direction to go cool his head.

* * *

Behind a second story window, Count Edmont de Fortemps scowls as he looks down at the Vigil below. Like his son, his eyes are a stony glare. Any servant witnessing his stern countenance would run the other way. His fingers tighten their grip over the head of his cane until the knuckles turn white. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter notes are short because it's 4 am and I'm about to crash but yeah. A lot of these chapters might come off as a bit hurried, which I suppose some of them are. I have good chapters, of course, but not all of them are, in my opinion, of equal quality. However, so long as the reader enjoys them, I am satisfied.
> 
> Btw in the scene where Haurchefant kinda outs himself and then takes it back by saying it was a joke, I quoted a line or two of that from the Goddess Tower scene between Byleth and Dimitri in FE3H.


	4. Synchronicity

Snowflakes frost over the windows of Camp Dragonhead, leaving a layer of ice thicker than the glass itself. Haurchefant’s gaze is dull with boredom as he finds himself looking outside of one rather than paying attention to the scout’s report. Oh, Halone, how he wishes he were in Ishgard instead of here. Of course, it’s not like she’s in the city anyway; Virrah had been sent to Falcon’s Nest with Artoirel. Then after that, she is to head to Camp Cloudtop with Emmanellain. The Elezen lord is loath to say anything to his father in lieu of the Count’s generous decision to take her and her companions in, but Haurchefant can’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance at his father’s ignorance. _She is clearly still struggling to adapt to what happened, and you would send her to the western highlands?_

Perhaps he doesn’t like to see her around the manor? Whenever Haurchefant is in Ishgard, all he sees is Virrah constantly being sent away for some reason or another. It’s especially annoying since these errands often prevent him from seeing or speaking to her for long. In fact, they haven’t had a decent conversation since the day they visited the Brume. If only he didn’t have these blasted duties he could go with her. At that thought, a faint note of amusement rises within him. _And to think, when my father first posted me here several years past, I couldn’t be prouder of my duties at Camp Dragonhead._ Yet now they are a shackle binding him and fettering the Elezen down so he cannot be by her side. Perhaps Emmanellain can take up his post. The young lord can certainly use some responsibility. It can’t hurt--

Haurchefant shakes his head. _No, no, what am I thinking? I can’t just foist all my responsibilities on others and go off gallivanting with the Warrior of Light._ He has Ishgard to fight for. The home of his father, and his father’s father, and his father before him, and so on and so forth. Ishgard aside, he has his father and brothers to think of. He may be currently experiencing some issues with the Count, but Haurchefant still loves his father. He loves his brothers, half though they may be. They have done so much for him; can he really say he loves a woman he’s spent only a few months with even more?

The Elezen mutters a curse as his side bumps the desk, spilling some miscellaneous papers onto the floor. He bends over to pick them up and notices several are letters, addressed to her from him. He hadn’t known where to send them, so he had merely kept them in his desk drawer until taking them out earlier in the day to do some once-in-a-blue-moon cleaning. They’re unmarked, but Haurchefant recognizes them all the same. All the letters he sends to other people are stamped. “Haurchefant Greystone,” he had signed them with a flourish. He smiles softly to himself as he puts them back in the desk drawer. It is only after meeting Virrah that he had started to stop thinking of the name Greystone as a curse.

Haurchefant casts his gaze to some of the older paperwork buried deep inside a forgotten drawer. Documents signed before she had come to Camp Dragonhead months prior. His signature is sloppy and jagged across the parchment, as if it had been pulled from him like one would teeth. The “Greystone” is especially tiny, dwarfed by his given name. Yet as the paperwork dates grow closer to the present, the young lord notices how his signature grows bolder and smoother. “This is who I am,” it seems to say. “I am a Greystone.”

With a sigh, he closes the drawer and looks outside the window once more. The hearth needs to be stoked; a chill is beginning to seep into the air. He ponders making himself some hot cocoa to warm himself up before dismissing the idea. It is not the same when she isn’t there to share it with him.

* * *

Virrah’s mismatched gaze finds itself lingering at the window as she shivers. This abandoned shack in the middle of the western highlands is sorely lacking for warmth. _Gods, I fucking hate this place_ , she thinks to herself as she holds Vii closer. The ruby carbuncle’s heat manages to stave off the frostbite. She may not be wearing a winter coat, but her mage robes are doing _something_ at least. By the Twelve, this place’s weather is fickle at best. She had hardly made it halfway to Gorgagne Mills before a vicious blizzard nearly swept her off Haj’s back. The Skywatcher’s predictions are useless in a place like this.

 _I wish I had some of Haurchefant’s hot cocoa right now._ But more than that, she wants his company. Virrah can’t say she’s felt particularly welcomed by Ser Artoirel. Haurchefant’s older brother is standoffish and callous. It seems he got it from his mother. From what she’s heard of the late Countess de Fortemps, the Elezen woman was bitter and went through great lengths to send Haurchefant the message growing up that he was unwelcome.

Meanwhile, she has no idea what to think of Emmanellain. He seemed kind enough when they had met, albeit a bit carefree. Still, he’s a breath of fresh air considering just how uptight Ishgard is. _I hope he’s better than Artoirel at least._ Normally she’d be reading one of her grimoires while waiting for the storm to pass, but the Miqo’te woman is too cold to summon the energy to do anything. All she has to lay on is a threadbare rug.

She lets out a muttered curse as she rifles through her bag. Almost all of the contents are reagents collected from slain monsters, specifically deepeye tears. Which is fine usually, but reagents can’t fill her stomach or warm her body. _I really need to start carrying actual survival supplies._ She isn’t used to needing them since every place before this had been mapped out. Virrah always knew where the nearest village or respite was back in Alliance territory. In an emergency, she could always teleport to an aetheryte and cough up the fee. But in her rush to hurry out and collect deepeye tears (she had wanted to try adding them to a certain concoction to make a special kind of weapon oil), she had forgotten to attune to the aetheryte at the Falcon’s Nest.

She can imagine Haurchefant in this moment--him scolding her for her lack of preparation. “Alchemical supplies are fine and all, but you’d think by now you’d actually have proper equipment on your person.” Her cheeks color a faint pink as she squishes her face between her gloved hands. _Why is it_ him _that I think of whenever I’m idle?_ But the question is moot; the Miqo’te knows exactly why he occupies every spare thought of hers. Virrah hugs her knees. Why does it have to be Haurchefant? Why can’t she just go back to liking K’hrid Tia? Or develop feelings for G’raha? They’re so far away from her. So easy to pine after. Unattainable.

Meanwhile Haurchefant is the opposite. He’s too close--too warm. Too friendly. Too kind. If he actually desires her in return then traditions be damned, he’ll throw it all away to be by her side. She knows that, and it is too much. Her glass shoulders can hold no more, lest they shatter. _I shouldn’t have him._ But she _can_. It would be easy. Temptingly easy. If he loves her (which is a big if, as she knows not if his affection towards her is unique), he won’t hesitate to have her. He is a Greystone, after all, and Greystones need not mind propriety. If Haurchefant takes her for himself, Virrah fears she does not have the willpower to say no. That she’s the Warrior of Light and needs to go save Eorzea.

 _Would he even love me if I wasn’t the Warrior of Light?_ If she gave up being the Warrior of Light to be his wife--a regular, ordinary Miqo’te--would Haurchefant still be attracted to her? Would anyone? Tears prick at her eyes. It is in moments like these where she can simply be Virrah, not the Warrior of Light. Not the Eikon-Slayer. Not Hydaelyn’s chosen. 

Is she even Hydaelyn’s chosen anymore? The Miqo’te can feel Midgardsormr inside of her--a small weight against her breast. To be honest, she felt relieved when the blessing of light had been lifted. Everyone praises her for being a hero, but is it not Hydaelyn’s power that makes it so? Anyone can be a hero if they’re chosen by the Mother Crystal; she just happens to be the poor sod who got stuck with the title. So when Hydaelyn’s protection was gone, Virrah couldn’t help but feel hope. Now she would finally know if she could be a hero only relying on her own power--not the borrowed power of a deity.

 _Yet Moenbryda and Nanamo are dead. I wasn’t strong enough to save them._ Yes, she has just been a puppet this entire time--playing the role of the Warrior of Light out of obligation. And now that Hydaelyn is no longer pulling the strings, she’s just dead weight. Virrah hugs Vii close in her arms as the carbuncle snuggles into her embrace. She hates herself for wishing it’s Haurchefant instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish there was a specific word for when two people think of each other at the same time when they're apart. The best thing I could find was synchronicity. The next chapter is already written so I'll publish it sometime tomorrow (or rather today, for it's 4:30 am here). 
> 
> I also plan on including some moments in Stormblood later on. Or maybe those will be a separate fic. Hmm. Regardless, my heart still yearns for our poor lover boy Elezen lord. I decided to make mentions of Virrah's past fancies such as G'raha and K'hrid. G'raha is in another fic of mine, but K'hrid isn't so I'll just say that he's unattainable because he's a very minor NPC who shows up for approximately 1 arcanist job quest before yeeting himself off the face of Hydaelyn and vanishing, never to be found or spoken of again.


	5. Reunion

The Elezen man sighs as he rests his chin in his hand. “I apologize profusely for my brother’s actions. Emmanellian will one day grow into a fine man, but as of right now he’s still….”

Virrah’s tail sways back and forth. “Don’t worry about it.” The wind tugs at her hat, but it stays put on her head. At this point he wouldn’t be surprised if she admitted to him that she nailed it to her skull. Her robes billow out behind her as the airship travels across the skyline.

Haurchefant’s exasperated scowl is replaced with a slight upturn of the corners of his lips. Emmanellian may be a bonehead, but at least this whole fiasco has managed to bring them together. Virrah’s eyes glow with a genuine mirth he hasn’t seen since that night back at Camp Dragonhead when they had shared that bottle of wine. He wants…he wants to see it more. Clearing his throat, he offers her one of the charming smiles he’s seen Emmanellian try on Laniaitte de Hailenarte countless times. “Pray we should have a chat by the hearth tonight. I haven’t been around to hear of your exploits at Falcons’ Nest with Artoirel.”

She snorts before laughing. Haurchefant frowns. “W-Was it something I said?”

“No, no,” she replies, still staving off a chuckle. “It’s just…you looked like your younger brother for a moment there. No offense, Haurchefant, but it doesn’t suit you at all.”

He sheepishly rubs the back of his head. “Are you saying I’m not charming?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all; you’re very charming.” She grimaces ever so slightly. “Emmanellian, however….”

Now he’s laughing with her. “Forgive me; I know very little of social poise. I assumed that my little brother was a bit more experienced, so I tried to copy him.”

A particularly strong gust blows, sending a roar whistling past their ears. Almost everyone has retreated below the deck at this point. Virrah tries in vain to push her fringe out of her face. “Curse this wind,” she spits. “Maybe I should cut my hair short.”

Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t know exactly how long her hair is. The only parts of it visible are the two front fringes that frame the sides of her face. The rest seems to be put up somehow. Regardless, though, he likes the Miqo’te exactly how she is and wouldn’t change anything about her given the chance. “I’m sure your hair is fine the way it is. Just try tucking it behind your ear,” he suggests. “That’s what Artoirel does.”

She shoots him a quizzical look and it takes the Elezen a few moments for his brain to connect what he just said. His face reddens as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “...I’m afraid you’ll have to rescind your earlier statement about me being charming.”

Virrah chuckles and flicks her long, fluffy tail against him playfully. A sudden urge to grasp it enters his mind, but he quashes the notion. “If anything, I find you even more charming,” she replies with a smirk. It dies a little, though, as she turns her gaze back outwards to the sea of clouds around them. “I may need to work for your kindness, but the knights in Coerthas always were honest about themselves once I surmounted that barrier. They laughed with me. Cursed with me. Reminded me just a little bit of Limsa.

“But the city of Ishgard itself…I’m not a fan of. The nobles there are fake and stuffy. Always sneaking around. Always scheming. Half the words that exit their mouths are lies.” Her gaze grows distant. “Ishgard is a snowy mountain. Regal and steady on the outside--absolutely immovable--but in actuality it only takes the slightest disruption to cause an avalanche. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not very good at walking on my toes.”

Indeed, she can say that again. The Warrior of Light is many things, but a natural-born dignitary is certainly not one of them. He’s even heard from Drillemont how she jumps down the stairs and over tables--even when people are still eating at them! In fact, she’s hopped over his war table a few times rather than spending the extra few moments going around. He had always smiled in amusement at her antics, though he’d seen Corentiaux and Yaelle stare wide-eyed in shock at the audacity of the foreigner.

And while she always arrives in time to save the day, Virrah  _ does  _ have admittedly odd priorities. “Sorry I can’t go with you at the moment to slay the catastrophic primal; I have to go deliver this letter to a pirate in La Noscea.” She can’t ignore someone in trouble, no matter how trivial the task. Even if she grumbles about what a pain it is the entire time, she can and will travel across the continent for every manner of request. The Miqo’te just cannot seem to say no.

A fact that would worry Haurchefant, but thankfully it is tempered by her inability to hide her expressions. If he asked her to have dinner and she looked unhappy, he would cancel it in a heartbeat. Though he cannot recall her ever looking sullen at his company.

She joins him in leaning against the railing, their shoulders almost touching (were it not for the fact that she only goes up to his chest). Haurchefant’s heart pounds in his chest as the thought of putting his arm around her suddenly occurs to him. Virrah’s so…tiny. Like a songbird. Even if she can still kick his ass several times over. Slowly, he drifts his hand over to her waist. She doesn’t seem to notice. Despite the cool air, Haurchefant’s face is smoldering. Thank the Fury Emannellian isn’t seeing this; he’d never let Haurchefant forget about how he couldn’t do something as simple as putting his arm around a girl’s waist without turning into a blushing, bumbling virgin.

He can’t take the suspense anymore. His hand finally makes contact with her robe as he tentatively hooks his fingers over her hip. She doesn’t respond. After a dozen or so moments of silence, Haurchefant clears his throat. “Pardon. Am I making you uncomfortable?”

She tilts her head back to smile up at him. “I appreciate your attempt to shield me from the cold, Haurchefant, but pressing your chainmail-covered arm against me doesn’t exactly warm my skin with the bliss of a hearth.”

“O-Oh,” he says, pulling his hand back before she grabs it.

Virrah looks out across the horizon, her face deliberately aimed away from him. “Though, ah, I can put up with it, you know. After all, you’re a good friend. I…don’t mind at all.”

Shaking his head, he withdraws his hand out of her grasp. “No, no, please don’t make yourself uncomfortable just to be polite. I shan’t do something thoughtless like that again.” He falls silent, a weight settling upon his shoulders. Disappointment claws at him, try as he might to ignore it. Virrah shuffles slightly away from him, still leaning on the railing. He can’t see her face. The Elezen internally scolds himself.  _ You idiot. You shouldn’t presume her feelings. Besides, she would never return your affections. You’re just a bastard. _

Beside the pensive man, Virrah knits her brow as she looks out at the horizon. Under her breath, she whispers, “Haurchefant, you idiot.” He is too lost in his thoughts to hear her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this fic doesn't get too much attention, but each view makes me extremely happy. Comments especially. No matter how long I've been writing fics, I still feel so happy over each bit of attention they get.  
> Fandom has been debating for a long time whether Haurchefant fucks or not, considering how overtly horny he is for WoL despite the circumstances of his birth. I decided to go for a Haurchefant that doesn't fuck and now he's like, "Oh my god I have feelings what do I do." There's a certain chapter quickly coming up that I've been dying to write for a while, so there's that to look forward to. Ciao~!


	6. Mistake

Edmont’s frigid look of disapproval is one of the Seven Wonders of Ishgard. Haurchefant can feel it upon him the moment Virrah leaves the room. Artoirel and Emmanellain exchange tense looks before excusing themselves. Haurchefant, playing coy, sits in a chair and folds one knee over the other as if he is just casually lounging. His father sits in the opposing chair before knitting his fingers together and sighing.

“Haurchefant.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, Father?” To be honest, he is not used to his father’s disapproving gaze being focused on him. These days it’s usually reserved for Emmanellain. Under his gaze, Haurchefant feels like a child all over again.

Edmont looks out the window, though his scowl doesn’t lessen. “You seem to be getting along with our guest.”

The blue-haired Elezen dips his head. “Of course. I have known her for some time now. Was I not also the one who requested you take her in as a ward of House Fortemps?”

He shakes his head. “Enough with the games. Your gaze lingers too long on her. I’m no fool, Haurchefant. I looked at your mother much the same way.”

Haurchefant clicks his tongue in irritation. “Look, I know you don’t like my--”

“--Don’t like? No, it’s much more than that.” Edmont crosses his arms and tilts his chin up. “I forbid you from pursuing her.”

The words explode from him before he can even process them. “What? What are you talking about, Father? I’m a grown man of almost 30 winters! You cannot forbid me from falling in love!” It occurs to him just how petulant he sounds, yet Haurchefant finds he cares little. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt this upset.

“I am not forbidding you from falling in love,” Edmont replies tersely, his icy-blue gaze--so similar to his son’s--sharp with conviction. “However, I am forbidding you from pursuing the Warrior of Light.” He pauses a moment to inhale. “Do you not see her tail? Her facial markings? She is a Miqo’te, Haurchefant, and you are an Elezen.”

Before he knows it, he is standing up from the chair. “Why must you be so close-minded? This entire city is! I vowed to be a knight of House Fortemps in the Dragonsong War, Father, I did. But I would leave if it meant I could be by her side.”

Now his father is standing too. “You may have never been outside of Coerthas, but I have. Thanalan, La Noscea, the Twelveswood--they’re all the same regarding their stance on unions between races. Don’t you get it, Haurchefant? There is nowhere in Eorzea you two will be accepted, especially if your relationship were to bear a child.” His expression softens in a rare moment of vulnerability. “I just don’t want you to make the same mistake I did.”

Immediately, Haurchefant stiffens, his gaze growing cold and distant. “Oh, so I’m a mistake, am I?”

Edmont reaches out for his son, but Haurchefant backs away. “You know that’s not what I meant,” he says, hurt and regret starting to leak into his gaze.

Haurchefant turns his head away so as to not look at his father, for he knows that if he does he will forgive him. And if he forgives his father, he must forget Virrah. “I know  _ exactly _ what you meant,” he says finally before turning on his heel and walking towards the door.

“Haurchefant. Haurchefant, wait!” the Head of House Fortemps calls out. 

Haurchefant ignores him. He strides out to the Vigil and towards the direction of the Foundation. Hopefully doing some swordwork will clear his head a little.

To his surprise, he sees an unexpected face near the training dummies. Francel’s eyes light up as he sees Haurchefant, a wide smile encompassing his face. Haurchefant finds himself smiling in return.  _ You still haven’t changed, have you.  _ He looks at him with the same idolization he did as a boy. “Haurche--I mean  _ Ser _ Haurchefant, what brings you here today?” Francel asks.

It is then that Haurchefant remembers the exchange with his father, and his foul mood returns from its momentary respite. The Elezen sighs. “Oh, you know. Just the usual: family issues.”

Francel’s brow knits as he follows his closest friend. “But I thought those passed along with the late Countess. Er, Halone bless her soul,” he adds with a small nod of the head.

Haurchefant draws his blade against one of the training dummies and slashes it with honed expertise. Francel backs away yet doesn’t leave, instead lingering at a safe distance to watch.  _ He’s right _ , Haurchefant thinks.  _ Francel is absolutely right. _ Since the late Countess had been bedridden from illness two years prior, all the distance separating him from his father and brothers had melted away. After all, she was powerless to stop Edmont from spending time with his middleborn son, despite how vehemently she espoused his very existence. And her death, only a few months prior to Virrah’s visit, brought a sense of peace. He could return to the manor at any time and actually consider it home.

This is the first fight he’s had with his father in some years now. The first fight not provoked by Artoirel and Emmanellain’s mother. Though it shares some consistencies with past spats. Namely, the root of the matter being a woman. Haurchefant’s arm burns as he continues to combat the dummy, the soles of his feet alight against the stone floor as he moves with a grace uncommon for a man in heavy chainmail. He swings and ducks and moves until, at last, he reaches his limit and has to stop. Haurchefant pants for breath as Francel runs over. To his surprise, his friend’s words are less overbearing than he had expected them to be: “Come on, let us relax and chat like old times.”

Rather than go to the Forgotten Knight, the two sit at a table in the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly (sweet Halone, what fool approved that name?). There is nothing to drink, which doesn’t particularly aggravate the Elezen as he is aware of his rather generous consumption of alcohol as of late. Plus Francel can’t even hold a single pint of watered-down ale without losing a decent amount of his motor skills.

Francel’s intrepid green eyes study Haurchefant with curiosity. “What could possibly be troubling you, old friend?”

He sighs and casts a quick look around the room. Nobody is paying them any mind. Still, he lowers his voice for good measure. “I have…become rather smitten with a woman. However, my father has forbidden it. I mean, I am a grown man, not some wayward boy…!”

“It’s Miss Louve, isn’t it?” the blond asks, though it’s really more of an observation.

Haurchefant’s cheeks color a faint pink as he stares at his friend. Sure, Francel is acute and studious, but he is usually hopelessly dense when it comes to other people. The tips of his ears feel hot. He cannot bring himself to answer, instead averting his gaze.

Francel smiles. “I never thought I’d see  _ you _ of all people going through this. I remember when Lady Lilina, the most sought-after maiden in Ishgard, asked you to dance at a ball, you told me after that it was boring. Boring! You were at the ire of every man in the room!”

At that, he chuckles and knits his fingers to rest his chin. “I must say I did Miss Lilina a disservice. It was certainly exciting dueling all those furious suitors the week after.”

The two laugh for a few moments before their mirth fades to something more solemn. Francel clears his throat. “Frankly, you’ve been obvious ever since the false heretic accusations. Who can blame you?” He blushes and looks down at the table. “I met Miss Virrah even before you, and it’s plain to see that she’s beautiful. Kind. Strong. Any man who isn’t blind can see your ardor for her.”

For a moment, a hungry flame of jealousy clings to Haurchefant before he extinguishes it.  _ She is not my possession; I have no right to bristle at the attention of others. _ Even so, he cannot help but allow himself a small indulgence. “Do you…intend to make  _ your _ feelings known?” he asks, trying very carefully to keep Francel from reading his face.

The boy’s face lights up as he swallows. “That’s….” He shakes his head. “I would never! Haurchefant, I owe you and Miss Virrah my life. And even more than that,” he smiles, “you have been my closest friend since childhood. That heretic scandal was not the first time you saved my life. Don’t you remember when those ruffians planned on ransoming me to House Haillenarte?”

The words bring back a vivid memory. A memory of warm blood that stains his hands, driving the cold away. Of the corpses on the ground and a terrified Francel, bound and gagged in the corner. The hunting dagger that has slain a different kind of beast. 11 years ago now--the unexpected tribulation had been his first step towards the title of Silver Fuller. He has seen countless battles since then, yet oddly enough, not a one has ever been as raw as that scene from so long ago. The slaughter in that tiny cabin in the woods. Haurchefant had not fought like a knight, but rather as a beast.

_ I am fortunate to have people like Francel and Virrah in my life. _ People that have accepted him regardless of anything else. People that, having not been born into the same situation as him, still choose to care about him not out of obligation, but rather kindness. He is close with Aymeric as well, but it is more the fellowship of one bastard to another. With a small smile, he nods. “Indeed I do remember, Francel. When I finally got home and was cleaned off, my father waited until the Countess went to bed before giving me a shield. One with the Fortemps house emblem on it.”

Francel’s eyes widen. “You mean…?”

“Indeed. The shield I still carry with me to this day.” He brushes his bangs out of his eyes. “Granted, the Countess would’ve had a fit if she saw me with it, so I had to hide it until I officially began my knight training.” The term “Countess” sounds clunky and awkward on his tongue, but Haurchefant does not know what to call her. She’s technically not his step-mother, as his parents were never wed, yet he cannot call her “Mother,” either. He would rather swallow quicksilver. There is always her name, but he cannot remember it anymore; he has forced himself to forget. Carved it from his memories with a sterilized blade--neatly, so as not to leave any scarring.

Francel leans forward across the table towards Haurchefant, his eyes shining earnestly. “If there is anyone in this world who deserves to be happy, it’s you, Haurchefant. Just know that I will always be on your side. You and Miss Virrah both.”

At that, the blue-haired Elezen raises an eyebrow. “I expected you to be the voice of reason and tell me that my father is right.”

The blond blushes sheepishly. “I mean, the Count does have a point. The two of you being together…well, it isn’t gonna be easy.” That earnest look appears in his gaze once more. “But I know that you two can make it work. After all, you’re both such good people. Surely Halone will grant you Her blessing.”

A warmth floods through Haurchefant, kinder than any hot cocoa, as he looks affectionately at his closest friend. The fight with his father seems distant, as if it had happened a while ago rather than just a few hours prior. “I hope She does too, Francel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love Francel and Haurchefant. Neither of them have any obligation to take the political reigns from their respective families, yet they still are concerned about the downtrodden simply because they are kindhearted. In the end, I am ultimately a sucker for kind men. Hence why Zenos, despite his thick and juicy ass, doesn't have the same appeal to me. 
> 
> I had a peer tell me they were disappointed with my portrayal of Edmont, but I think that was because I hadn't finished this yet. I plan for this gap between him and Haurchefant to be bridged, rather than left unaddressed. Because it's clear to see that Edmont loves all his sons, regardless of their status (yes, even Emmanellain).


	7. Bated

“Have you ever considered getting married?” Haurchefant muses lightly.

Virrah spits out her tea in surprise, coughing as she struggles to regain her poise. Her cheeks flush a deep red as she looks down at the cup and saucer in her hand. “M-Married?” The Miqo’te falls silent for a moment. “N-No…I have not. I mean it’s not like I don’t want to _ever_ get married or anything, I just haven’t found the right person--rather, I mean to say that I’ve never been in a relationship before--no, wait! That’s…!” She buries her face in her hands, tail fluffed out from embarrassment. 

The Elezen studies her in silence for a few minutes as she struggles to find her composure. Finally, he tilts his head slightly to the side. “Er, Virrah, could it be that romantic endeavors are… _foreign_ to you?”

Again, she turns a bright red. “I…um….” Her tail flickers back and forth behind her like a high-strung animal’s. At last, she sighs. “If you are asking if I am…,” her tail gives a particularly spirited lash, “ _untouched_ , the answer is no. Well, I was back when we first met.”

“I see,” he says in reply, though a consternation grips his heart beneath the calm exterior. “Was it the boy traveling with you? Alphinaud?”

Her gaze snaps up to him in shock. “What? No. Alphinaud is hardly more than a child.” Virrah averts her eyes again as the blush returns. “You do not know him. It…wasn’t planned. You see, Miqo’te experience this condition called--”

“A heat,” he interrupts. “Yes, I know.” At her surprised look, he offers her a smile. “It was described in the books I read documenting the history of your people. It’s normal for a Miqo’te woman to experience it when she….” Haurchefant coughs politely into his sleeve. “Well, we need not go into the particulars.” His gaze grows solemn. “So you are with child…?”

“Gods, no!” she interjects. It is as if Haurchefant and her eyes are two negative magnets; they’re repelled across the room, everywhere except on him. “I took a contraceptive tonic afterwards. It wasn’t a planned encounter; we were alone and the next thing I knew…we were just on one another.”

Concern nips at the bastard lord as he takes her hand. It is only then that she dares look him in the eye. For a moment, he forgets to speak. The feline pupils look up at him, wide with vulnerability. “Did you consent to it? I also read in the book that….”

She shakes her head. “No, no, it was consensual. I will admit that I wasn’t entirely in control of my faculties, but he knew that. He rebuffed my advances at first out of concern for my mental state, but at that point both of us were slaves to our own instincts.” Virrah withdraws away from him and looks down at her hands on her lap with a vivid flush. “A-Anyway, that’s all that needs to be said about the matter. I have never been in a relationship with a man.”

“A man?” he echoes.

“With anyone,” she corrects herself before glaring petulantly at him. “Regardless, that’s enough of that. This is certainly not an appropriate topic of discussion.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Since when did you care about propriety? Half the tables in Coerthas have your bootprints on them!”

Virrah turns her head away in an attempt to silence a stinging rebuke. Finally, she sighs. “Look, I get it, I’m no _proper maiden_ , or whatever it is you men call it.” Her voice gets lower as she continues, threatening to crack underneath her annoyed facade. “I will only ever be seen as the great Warrior of Light. The Savior of Eorzea. You said it yourself: I’m a ‘splendid warrior.’ You and everyone else only ever see me for what I can do, not who I am.”

Haurchefant does not immediately reply. He mulls over her words in faint shock. Does she _really_ think he harbors no feelings for her? He’s said things to her that would make even Emmanellain blush! With the way she brushed them off as platonic, the Elezen had assumed she just wasn’t interested in something more serious. _Can she really be so naive?_ “My friend, I assure you--”

“Stop calling me that!” The words leave her in a shout before she can stop them. Virrah falls silent and looks down at her breast, crestfallen. “Forgive me, I allowed my temper to get the better of me. I should--”

Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s interrupting her. “What issue do you take with it?” Haurchefant meets her gaze tentatively. “The word friend.”

The Miqo’te blushes and averts her eyes. “That’s…. I’m sorry; I’m burdening you with my own personal issues.”

“You needn’t apologize,” he says. The Elezen looks down at his lap. “You needn’t ever apologize to me. Besides, _you_ are the one holding all the burdens, no? All I can ever do is wait with bated breath for you to return.”

Virrah shakes her head. “That’s not true at all! Besides, I should be apologizing.” The corners of her eyes turn downwards. “I’ve invited strife into your home. If I weren’t here, you wouldn’t be fighting with your father. And don’t bother to tell me that there isn’t some bad blood between you two right now; I have eyes, you know. I don’t…,” her eyes start to fill with tears, “I don’t want to drive a wedge between you two.”

Her words cut him deeper than any blade or talon. _So you know. You_ do _know the true depth of my feelings._ Haurchefant’s throat tightens as he stands up from his chair. “I would choose you over--”

“I can understand what a precarious position I’m putting House Fortemps in by being here as a ward,” she interrupts, not even hearing him. “No doubt Count Edmont would see us gone, freeing him from the scrutiny of the Archbishop and nobility.” A sigh leaves her. “It’s okay, Haurchefant. I can always…go back to Thavnair. I’m sure my parents would be thrilled to see me. You do not need to keep me here out of a sense of obligation.” 

The Elezen sits back down in muted shock. She always manages to shock him with her acumen, and even more so with her wildly off-the-mark assumptions. Gods, he’s been trying to get his feelings across subtly since the moment they’d met--not even so subtly, to be honest. _Do I really need to just come out and say it?_ Does he really need to tell Virrah, point blank, that he has romantic feelings for her? “That is not the case at all,” he replies with a sigh of frustration.

Haurchefant stands up and walks over to her, kneeling down to grasp her hand as she sits in the chair. The Miqo’te’s face is bright pink as she stares at him slack-jawed. “Virrah, since the day when you walked through my doors,” he smiles, “rubbing at your nose as you tried not to sneeze, I knew that you were--”

The door flies open as a panting messenger boy freezes in place, his mouth already open in preparation to say something before witnessing the scene in front of him. His face flushes pink but to his credit, and Haurchefant’s ire, he takes a slight inhale before announcing, “Ser Alphinaud wishes to speak to the Warrior of Light. He is in the parlor bearing news of paramount import!”

Virrah bolts to her feet, her hand flying from Haurchefant’s grasp. Already, her gaze is lost to him, instead present in the parlor awaiting the news. He tries to speak, but his tongue feels dry like sandpaper.

“I must go,” she says, turning towards the door. Haurchefant watches her from the floor in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter I'm thinking of Haurchefant and Edmont addressing their growing distance as the WoL is away fighting to free Raubahn. I wanted this chapter to begin kinda spicy lol even if it's not sexual (yet). Virrah always entertains me haha.  
>   
> Virrah: Are my feelings for Haurchefant requited?  
> Haurchefant: Virrah, I love you.  
> Virrah: The world may never know.


	8. The Greatest Gift

The clink of silverware against plates rings out dully across the room as the men of House Fortemps dine in silence. Even Emmanellain is without his usual gossip as he eats his breakfast, eyes flickering back and forth uneasily between his half brother and his father. If Haurchefant were paying any attention, he would roll his eyes.

But he’s not. Instead, his gaze finds itself a million malms away as he stares absentmindedly out one of the dining hall windows.  _ She’s been gone longer than I expected. _ It shouldn’t take Virrah more than a few days at most to rescue Raubahn, provided she uses teleportation. Something must have thrown a wrench in their plans.  _ She could be in trouble. What if she needs me and I’m sitting on my ass back in Coerthas?  _ Haurchefant gets to his feet.

“Sit down,” Edmont says sharply. It is just the two of them now; Emmanellain and Artoirel are both absent, their plates cleaned.  _ Since when did they leave? _ Haurchefant looks down at the table, his attitude during their last interaction noticeably absent. He no longer has the energy to get angry at his father. The weight of constantly stressing over Virrah has taken a toll on his shoulders.

He doesn’t even realize he was lost in his thoughts until Edmont’s voice again reaches his ears. “I remember that heaviness. That silent burden of worry,” the Count says quietly. “It was my constant companion as I found myself unable to do anything while your mother grew weaker and weaker.”

“Don’t play the victim,” Haurchefant mutters, staring down at the table. “You never even saw her. But I did. I still remember how she would sit up in bed and look out the window, waiting. Waiting for you to appear.”

Edmont’s fist pounds sharply against the table, silencing him quicker than any strike. “And if I did see her?! What do you think would’ve happened then? ---- would have left me and taken your brothers with her!” He spoke her name out loud, but that edited part of Haurchefant’s brain smooths it over until it sounds like white noise. Edmont sees his son’s reaction and his anger melts away to be replaced by sadness. “I may have lost Aurelia, but I still have you. I still have your brothers.”

“I thought I was a mistake,” the younger Elezen says with venom.

Edmont shakes his head, tears threatening to overwhelm him. It takes every onze of strength he has to keep his composure. “I have erred in many ways over the course of my life, Haurchefant, but your birth is certainly not one of them. And…it pains me--this distance between us. I thought that after she died, that distance was behind us. You are no longer a hot-blooded, temperamental boy. And I am no longer a man who cowers behind what his wife may think. Haurchefant, it is because I love you that I tell you not to pursue Virrah.”

The blue-haired Elezen grows silent for a moment. “You say my birth was not a mistake, but do you regret falling in love with my mother? With cheating on your wife?”

Edmont sighs, the creases in his forehead more apparent than ever. It is the first time that Haurchefant sees him as an old man. “I’ve been alive far too long for regrets, my son. Even Aurelia, Halone bless her soul, was a ray of light illuminating my life.” He looks at his son solemnly, his ink-blue eyes adorned with crow’s feet. “You do know that if you want to be with her, you will have to give up everything you’ve ever worked for? Your post. Your knighthood. Your home. Your oath.”

Haurchefant nods, the weight on his shoulders growing even heavier in preparation to be released. “Growing up, all I ever wanted was to be a knight. To become someone strong who helps the weak.” He grimaces. “I wanted to become a man who could’ve saved my mother.

“But now I want to be there for her. To fight by her side and be waiting to greet her after each battle, warm cocoa prepared. I’m sick of how useless I feel, sitting on my heels and waiting anxiously for her to return. I became a knight so I  _ wouldn’t _ have to feel that way anymore.”

At that, the Count allows himself a small chuckle. “Ah yes,” he says wistfully, “you fall in love and suddenly your entire life feels like you misplaced your purpose. It’s been 28 years, yet I still remember that feeling well.” He exhales, the mirth gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Go on then. Do what I couldn’t do. You’re free, Haurchefant.” Edmont’s eyes seem to glimmer for a moment, as if wet with tears, but that cannot be. It’s been two decades since the man had last cried. “I held you back because I didn’t want to lose you. But I see now that that was unfair of me. Pray forgive me, my son.”

Haurchefant falls quiet as he feels an uncharacteristic lump in his throat. The Fortemps men are not prone to tears, yet the ache of pain in his chest is certainly not a foreign sensation. In fact, it’s all he remembers surrounding the death of his mother. “I don’t think you realize just how incredible she is,” he whispers finally as his father looks at him in silence. Haurchefant smiles. “She made me realize that the best thing you could’ve ever given me was not my shield, but rather this name.” His ticket to freedom. A Greystone with no obligations. No title. Everything to his name was earned through his own work, and is therefore his to give away.

Edmont nods, an unusually youthful note of relief gracing his features. “Then she must be special indeed.” A hint of a smile tugs at his upper lip. “Well, I rather like her. So hurry up and make her my daughter-in-law already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No I haven't forgotten about this piece. It's just I've been working on the chapter after this one and hoo boy let's just say it's a doozy. I felt bad, though, so wrapped up this chapter to tide y'all over until I'm finished with the next chapter (which btw is like twice as long as all the other chapters oof). We got smut coming the next chapter so stay tuned.


	9. Just Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lordy this is by far the longest sex chapter I've written in my life. In case you were wondering why I was taking so long to update, this is the answer. This is my love letter to Haurchefant Greystone. And prepare to see me abuse the fuck out of ellipses. Anyway it's 5:30 am and I'm exhausted so I'll just leave it at that. Thanks to Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club for motivating me to plow through all this horny, and also very inadequate with the sheer amount of talent surrounding me. However, I do feel extremely proud of this chapter and I'm hoping to hear y'alls thoughts if y'all would be so inclined. Thank you for sticking with me.
> 
> Also why do these notes sound like it's the last chapter when it's not?

The sound of light footsteps alerts Haurchefant as he tenses. They are much too soft to belong to anyone in his family and all the maids have retired for the night. Who can possibly be up at this ungodly hour? Besides him, of course. At the very least, he can ascertain that the owner of the footfalls must be small--significantly smaller than him. He may not have a weapon on hand but he doesn’t need one; he can merely overpower the intruder.

Slowly, he creeps down the hallway, aware that his own footfalls sound embarrassingly heavy in comparison. The sounds are coming from…the larder? The Elezen leaps out from around the corner in preparation to strike before stopping abruptly. A long, fluffy tail greets him as its owner is kneeling on the floor.

Virrah whirls around and jumps to her feet. “H-Haurchefant! What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean what am I doing here? This is my house,” he replies humorously. A dozen questions run through his mind, but he files them away for later. It wouldn’t be wise to begin with interrogating her. Instead, he offers the Miqo’te an easygoing smile. “What about you? It’s the wee hours of the morning; I thought you were an intruder.”

The silver moonlight washes over her figure, revealing her in a silk nightgown. Haurchefant visibly swallows as his eyes trace the bodice. It’s thin enough so he can see her skin underneath the material if the light hits it just right. The fabric is a bit thicker around her breasts, blocking any view of her nipples. He feels a distinct bead of sweat drip down the back of his neck. _Tease._ This is a whole new side of her he’s never seen before. Except….

“Er, why do you have your hempen hat on with your nightclothes?” he asks.

Virrah flushes pink. “Just in case somebody sees me. I know nobody’s up at this time of night, but…better safe than sorry.”

Haurchefant takes a few steps towards her before standing by the table she’s leaning against. “You didn’t answer my first question,” he reminds her with a disarming smile.

She looks down at the floor. Up close, he can see that her eyes are shadowed heavily from exhaustion. Her normally creamy skin is pallid. “Oh, you know. Just got hungry.”

“Oh?” He winks at her. “It seems we’re of the same mind then.” Haurchefant searches a nearby pantry for something to eat and makes a small noise of surprise as a large lump of rock salt tumbles onto the counter.

Virrah looks over at it. “Why is it clumped together like that?”

The Elezen raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never seen salt before it gets separated into little granules like you’re used to? The cooks separate the salt right down here in-house before it’s served.” He chuckles. “Apparently a couple generations ago, Ishgardians used to just pass a big rock of salt around the table when sharing a meal and each person would lick the salt rock.” He smiles in amusement at her doubtful grimace.

“You’re trying to pull one over on me, aren’t you?”

He kneels down and bows his head while placing a hand over his heart. “I swear it on my title of the Silver Fuller.”

Finally, she allows herself a small giggle as his heart leaps into his throat. “You ought not to invoke your title so easily,” the Miqo’te says with a touch of solemnity. “You worked so hard for it, after all.”

Haurchefant swallows deeply, the exchange with his father from the other day coming to mind. He casts his gaze over to Virrah, taking her figure in. She squirms under his gaze, her skin growing pink to match her hair. Her skin is ridged with gooseflesh, he notes. His eyes catch on her nipples and how they indent clearly through her nightgown. “Y-You must be cold,” he says, turning his head away. His face matches hers at this point. 

Virrah rubs her arms and shivers. “A little,” she admits before shaking her head. “I’m okay though. I was sweating earlier so it feels nice, actually.”

“Sweating?” he asks. “Why were you sweating?”

The Miqo’te smiles a smile he has seen before. A smile worn on the face of injured men as they were left behind. Men hardly more than boys, and much too young to die. “It’s okay,” they’d say with the same false smile. “This way I’ll bring honor to my family, right?” “I just…had a bad dream,” she says with an airy laugh. “A-Anyway, I’ve been taking up way too much of your time tonight. You should get to bed.”

“What about you?” he replies.

“Oh I’ll be right behind you,” she lies with a flick of her tail. 

Haurchefant purses his lips as he takes a few steps towards her, his face set in that stubborn way seen in all Fortemps men. Virrah looks up at him nervously but doesn’t move. The air seems to freeze around them, like time has lost all meaning. _Her eyes._ They glitter in the moonlight and grasp his heart firmer than any fist can. The feline pupils are unusually wide in anticipation, her mouth open in a small yet expectant “o.” He had noticed right in the beginning that she seems to wear no lipstick or any other kind of makeup. It matters little to him; no place for such things on the battlefield. It just makes her seem like more of a warrior. “Tell me about your nightmare,” he murmurs, his breath frosting the air as it ghosts over her cheek.

The tears come quickly and catch him off guard. Virrah presses against the Elezen and buries her head against his chest--or rather his abs, due to the height difference--as she sobs, her words unintelligible through the muffling of his shirt and the crying. Haurchefant can only rub the small of her back until her voice grows coherent enough for him to hear the words, “dead,” “everyone,” and “my fault.” He feels her tears stain his skin through his shirt. 

“I just can’t stop dreaming of them,” she croaks, her voice now raw and watered down from strain. “The Scions, Moenbryda, everyone. They keep telling me it’s all my fault they’re dead.” She pauses for a moment to take a trembling breath. “A-And they’re right; I didn’t have the Blessing of Light. I’m _nothing_ without the Blessing of Light--just a fraud,” she spits with an ocean of vitriol. “You and Aymeric and Count Edmont and Francel and everyone else expect me to be a hero, but I’m not! Not anymore….”

He strokes her cheek like that day over a month ago, a single tear catching on his thumb the same way. But this time will be different. There are no critical eyes to watch them now. And even if there were, he wouldn’t give a damn. He leans down to press his lips against hers, taking in the Miqo’te’s scent of lavender. “You are…a hero to me…with or without…a Blessing,” he gasps between kisses as she melts against him. Haurchefant can no longer tell if the tears on his face belong to her or not. She must’ve downplayed how cold she was earlier; her body is ice against his--or perhaps he’s just hot from the roaring of his blood. He leans his head further down to nip at her neck and she lets out a soft moan as he distinctly feels his trousers tighten.

He wants to make her feel better. Feel safe. But it’s not like he can take a sword and slay Virrah’s nightmares, or even slay the flesh-and-blood enemies which torment her. This is, sadly, all he can do for her. Haurchefant’s hands travel up her hips, slipping under her nightgown, his fingers hooking around the waistband of her panties. He pauses for a moment, gauging her reaction. The Miqo’te squirms against him, urging him to continue. Instead, he places a chaste kiss on her nose and beckons her silently to a destination they’re both aware of.

A plague of worries and doubts flood his mind through the haze of lust as Haurchefant stumbles down the hallways, Virrah’s hand clutched in his. What if one of the servants is awake? Is this right? What if he hurts her? What if she’s just going along with him because she can’t say no? The questions melt away, however, the moment the door is shut behind them and Virrah jumps into his arms before kissing him deeply once more. 

Haurchefant groans into her mouth as the duo tumble onto the bed. She looks up at him, eyes blown wider than the moon. He reaches for the brim of her hat before she grasps his hand with her own, her fingers trembling. He brings it to his lips and kisses each knuckle while looking down at her with adoration. He again reaches for the brim of her hempen hat, and this time she lets him slowly tug it off. He expects to see shredded ears, perhaps partially torn off, or something even more hideous. 

Two regular Miqo’te ears greet him, adorned with plain brass ear cuffs. A silent question marks his lips before Virrah answers for him, “I just…think they’re ugly, okay? I got made fun of for them a lot,” with a self-conscious flick of her ear.

He strokes one of the velvet tips, eliciting a purr from her. “I think they’re beautiful,” the Elezen says in a whisper, the end of his sentence melding into the kiss he shares with her. Sparks go off in the back of his brain. How many times has he touched himself at the thought of her underneath him like this? Their gazes connect as he waits for her assent. She nods, and Haurchefant slips a dexterous hand up her nightgown. He snags the waistband with his fingers and tugs the garment down in a single, fluid motion.

Virrah looks away in embarrassment as he moves down to plant soft kisses trailing up her ankles. Haurchefant tries to keep his movements slow and gentle, but beneath it there is the lean hunger of a man starved. For now, he will keep his desire in check. While he continues up her ankles, he tugs her nightgown upwards to rid the garment from her figure. The Elezen smirks to himself as he finally sees her bare.

“Wh-What’s that face for?” the Miqo’te mumbles into her hands, her dual-toned eyes flickering upwards to look at him every few moments before darting away shyly.

Haurchefant chuckles while brushing some stray hair out of his eyes. “I’m just thinking that my imagination pales in comparison to the view in front of me.”

Virrah squirms as she covers her eyes with her hands. “Stop…! You’re being so cheesy.”

As if a switch was flipped, he retreats from her and sits back up on the bed. “Well if you want me to,” he says nonchalantly, barely holding back a grin that threatens to split his face.

“Wait, I…. That’s….” 

The Elezen cages her in, his hips nestled snugly between her legs as he holds his face mere ilms above hers. “Then tell me what you want,” he breathes, his gaze getting stuck on the way her eyelashes flutter--long and thick. Forget his earlier remark about her not wearing makeup; surely she must wear mascara. Or are women’s eyelashes normally so mesmerizing? “Tonight is all about you. Whatever you need to find a reprieve from your pain.”

Virrah looks away and bites her lip. “I can’t ask so much of you just out of an obligation of friendship.”

Haurchefant barks out a laugh that might just be a _little_ loud considering the hour. “You _still_ think that? Even now? Gods, Virrah, I was just thinking that now that we’re doing this I won’t have to openly confess my undying love for you. Will you still make me do that now of all times?”

Her jaw drops open in shock. She’s too surprised to even blush anymore. “Undying love…? So you mean…?”

“What I mean,” he says, barely managing to keep the growl out of his voice as he nips at her neck, “is that I want you. Do not misunderstand: I do not do this out of a sense of friendly obligation.” A small moan leaves her lips as she arches into his touch. Haurchefant brushes some mussed hair out of her face. “I do this out of love for you,” he says between kisses.

Virrah turns her head away, something unreadable entering her gaze. When she speaks, her voice is hoarse from restraint: “No one’s ever told me that before.”

Haurchefant feels a grin pull at his lips as the sudden desire to burst out laughing from happiness occurs to him. He slips a finger inside her, unable to keep a grin from crossing his features upon looking at her reddening face as squeaks of arousal escape the Miqo’te. “I’d be happy to tell you it every day,” he says. “Multiple times a day, in fact.”

She doesn’t reply. Instead, her eyes well up with tears as she looks down in resignation. “I wonder if they felt that way….” Seeing his quizzical look, she continues, “Urianger and Moenbryda. I wonder if they were also in love.” Virrah takes in a shuddering breath, her tears beginning to flee down her cheeks. “Yet Moenbryda’s dead. I wasn’t strong enough to vanquish Nabriales on my own. I don’t deserve this happiness.” Her body trembles from a choked sob. “Urianger hates me, as I’m sure the other Scions did too.”

The Elezen moves his thumb to her clit, rubbing it in a circular motion as he works to dry her tears. A small, choked moan is wracked from her lungs, replacing a sob. She is a freshly-made painting left out in the rain, the colors slowly warping and seeping under the water until the original picture is intelligible. Despite her doubts, she doesn’t retreat from his touch. In fact, she leans into it like a dying man finding an oasis. Only then does it dawn on him that she is clinging to him to retain her shape, before everything is melted away in the rain of doubt and expectations of others. She needs this. Needs him. 

That particular thought makes his arousal throb to the point where his pants almost feel painful. “If you find my love for you too painful to bear,” he murmurs, “I shan’t hold it against you if you decide this means nothing in the morning.”

She shakes her head stubbornly, clinging to him as if for dear life. “No, I…want you.” Her voice breaks a little in a plea. “Please.”

Haurchefant smiles as he trails soft kisses down her abdomen and hips. “Who am I to refuse a lady?” he chuckles before tasting her. She yelps as he inserts his tongue deeper inside her core, probing for any spots that will make her weak in the knees. He drinks from her like she holds the gods’ ambrosia itself within her--and indeed Virrah tastes heavenly. Even the nostalgic memory of the taste of the rose wine they shared moons ago pales in comparison.

His erection throbs pointedly, but the Elezen ignores it in favor of continuing his ministrations. Tonight is about her and her alone. Even when he acutely feels a bead of precum stain his smalls. In the absence of his waxing poetic, Virrah mewls adorably, struggling to speak.

“I’ve, ah, never had this done to me before.”

He takes a brief reprieve to look up at her. “What about…?”

She blushes and flops back to look at the ceiling once more. “We moved too fast for that. There was no buildup, we just….” Her thighs twitch wantingly for him to continue. “That’s what a heat does to you. It’s not about going slow or enjoying things.”

He wastes no time in returning to his prior efforts as she moans and wriggles beneath him, her tail tickling him as it brushes against his ear. _I would be happy to tend to you through such an affliction_ , he thinks. _Fast, slow, I’d be the happiest man in Coerthas just having the privilege to take you._ This is a tithe he is all too happy to pay for his goddess.

It is almost ridiculous how soft she is despite being the Warrior of Light. She has a few scars here and there, but they are sparse and small. Not to mention the Miqo’te has deceptively little muscle definition. How does she carry that heavy bag of hers around? He’d tried picking it up once and nearly toppled over from the weight. An impish beam of moonlight dares to peek through the curtains, but Haurchefant is willing to forgive Menphina’s transgression upon seeing the way it lights up Virrah’s creamy skin. Just catching a glimpse of her biting her lip with her eyes clenched shut, fighting against her oncoming orgasm, nearly makes him finish in his smalls.

“Why are you fighting it?” he murmurs, pulling himself up to ghost his lips over her cheek.

She looks away, her face flushed as she pants. “I just…I don’t want to make a mess. Not with your face… _down there_.”

Haurchefant begins to protest, but the words die in his throat as he can see how she looks uncomfortable. Instead, he takes her hand and kisses it. “...Very well. I will have you know that I quite enjoy it, but if you don’t feel comfortable, that’s also okay. Do you want to stop?”

Virrah shakes her head vigorously. “No, not at all.”

“Then tell me what you want.”

She covers her eyes with her hands, as if unable to bear to look at him. “I…want you. All of you. I want you to claim me wholly so I can forget the ghosts that haunt me. At least, for the time being.”

His eyebrows knit. “Are you sure? No matter how you put it, I’m near three fulms taller than you. Not to mention as an Elezen I’m just…larger.” Now he’s the one blushing. “In a lot of ways. I suspect that, no matter how much I prepared you beforehand, it will hurt.”

She still doesn’t remove her hands from her eyes, but he distinctly hears her chuckle. It lifts a small burden off his shoulders. “I’ve fought Primals, Haurchefant. Taking your cock can’t possibly hurt more than having my body battered by Titan’s stones, or my skin sliced open by Garuda’s winds.”

Said aforementioned cock is standing rigidly at attention from Virrah’s unexpectedly vulgar language. Haurchefant can’t help but let out a muffled groan as he finally pulls his smalls down and it springs free. The Miqo’te slowly sits up on the bed, her eyes glimmering with wary interest. “So this is what a male organ looks like,” she muses, taking it into her hand and lightly pumping it.

“You’ve never…seen one?” he manages to ask between moans. “I thought you…were not a virgin.”

Again she looks away with a demure blush, though this time it’s erotic with the contrast of his cock in her hand. “It was dark and I begged him to just fuck me. I never even saw it, just felt it inside me. I’ve never actually…seen one,” she admits, her tail fluffing out self-consciously. 

He chuckles. “Well I’ll just say that if you keep playing with it like that I won’t last long enough to fulfill your request.”

She unhands it with an awkward blush and he seizes the moment to kiss her again--deeply. “Just tell me if it’s too much,” the Elezen murmurs. He guides her body with his hands, nudging her thighs apart so she’s splayed open. Using his arms to cage her in, he pulls himself up until their hips are roughly aligned. Haurchefant’s breath catches in his throat at the sensation of her entrance against him. He takes his time slowly, rubbing his head between her folds as her voice trembles in pleasure. The height difference is a damn shame; he’d love to kiss her again. He presses the head against her opening every so often, gauging her body’s resistance to the intrusion and to familiarize Virrah with the sensation. Finally, he lets out a groan, his impatience threatening to get the better of him. “You ready?” he asks, and she makes a sound of assent.

He can’t see her face as he pushes into her--only feels her body trembling against his as she struggles to take his cock. Her nails dig into his skin hard enough to draw blood and it takes all of Haurchefant’s willpower not to spend himself right then and there. “We’re almost done,” he soothes. Just a few more ilms and he’ll be fully sheathed inside her. She lets out a pained groan as he feels their hips meet.

“P-Please, wait…,” she pants against his chest.

He nods, stilling himself while her body adjusts. After a dozen or so moments of silence, she lets out a tiny sigh. “Okay, you can move now.”

The Elezen starts out slow, withdrawing a little before pushing back in. His breath rasps at his lungs, the blood roaring in his ears. He has always considered himself to be well-spoken, but there are no words to describe just how amazing she feels.

To say it’s been a long time since he’s done this is an understatement. Haurchefant had only ever done this once before, several years ago at Camp Dragonhead with a random traveler whose name he can no longer remember. Even then, he had been sweetened by wine and seductive words. In the back of his mind, he tries to remember what he did back then that pleased her.

He squeezes the Miqo’te’s hips, drawing a squeak from her as he thrusts in a little rougher. She eagerly moans, gripping his cock noticeably tighter than before. “Do you like that?” he whispers, his voice coming out a hair’s breadth from a growl. With a deftness he previously didn’t believe he had, Haurchefant scoops Virrah up and reverses their positions, falling back on the bed with her now on top. Finally he can see her face now--twisted in lust as she grates her hips against his, chasing her pleasure. Unlike the expectation for Miqo’te, she’s soft and inexperienced, less like a hunter and her quarry than a lost tourist in the woods. Moonlight and shadow, equal parts astral and umbral, dance across her skin. A clumsy waltz for his eyes and his eyes alone.

He could drown in a sea of stars for the rest of his days without feeling even a moment of regret for this sight. Despite the coldness of her body, each bit of contact between her skin and his leaves a trail of blistering flame up his spine. _At this rate, all that will be left of me is ash._ Virrah is the goddess, and he the supplicant. Even were she to demand his flesh and soul as tithe for her grace, it would be a price Haurchefant wouldn’t hesitate to pay.

The Elezen chuckles at the thought. Virrah frowns at him, though her movements don’t stop; she is too enthralled in chasing her own pleasure. “What’s so funny?” the Miqo’te whines.

“Nothing. Just you’re beautiful,” he replies simply with a roguish wink.

She turns her face away from him, the moonlight showing her skin as milkweed pink instead of its usual lily hue. Her movements finally slow as she snakes her tail around herself to obstruct his view of where they’re connected.

“Is something wrong?”

She mumbles, “No, it’s just…I feel weird with you seeing me like this,” before self-consciously covering her breasts. He tilts his head so she continues. “It’s hard to explain. I just…suddenly feel shy. I’m sitting right up completely in the nude, and you’re looking right at me. And my ears….”

His brows knit. “Do you want to stop?”

Virrah shakes her head. “No, I’m enjoying this. I just feel like I’m enjoying it too much, and now I feel nervous.” Her eyelashes hang low and heavy as she avoids his gaze. “What if I don’t… _perform_ well enough? I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The Elezen runs his hands up her hips as she twitches beneath his touch. The movement makes his cock throb impatiently within her, but he ignores it for the time being. “Do you want me to take the lead?” he whispers, and she nods. Haurchefant wastes no time snaking his hand downwards to play with her clit, coaxing delectable squeaks of pleasure from the Miqo’te’s lips as he thrusts up into her, feeling her walls clench around him until his vision threatens to turn white. The slow, gentle pace from before morphs into something fast and rough. He wishes he could show a bit more restraint, but alas, his patience is that of a lesser man’s. An unfortunate trait he had inherited from his father. So many men out there who can and would treat her better. So why does she grace his bed? He has a feeling the question will haunt the back of his mind for the rest of his life.

He must give her credit though; Virrah takes the punishing pace well. Her nails rake across his chest, drawing a hiss of pleasure from the man as she counteracts his thrusts, driving him as deep inside of her as he can go. Her slick is coating his hips by now, low moans exiting her as she moves past her earlier squeaks of sensitivity. It’s more primal now. Mature. Sensual. 

His balls tighten in preparation for his orgasm, but Haurchefant fights the feeling with gritted teeth. He cannot allow himself to cum until his name is pulled from her lips again and again. Until it is whittled down to something so intimate and fragile it can’t be touched without shattering.

He pulls himself upwards and encaptures her lips in his, feeling a moment of gratitude for his knight training. He’d done sit-ups for hours along with his peers back in the early days of conscription. She’s soft and pliant beneath his touch, her skin having warmed up considerably to match his. If only he could chase her troubles away like he can the cold. His hands map out her body, traveling far and wide across the milky expanse of her skin in search of something to send her over the edge. It only takes a cursory graze against the base of her tail to send the Miqo’te preening. Haurchefant grins as he wraps his hand around the furry appendage and pulls.

The feeling of her orgasm is sudden and sweeps through him with no warning. Virrah squeals as she clenches around him, her entire body trembling in the aftermath. Haurchefant’s breath freezes in his chest as he takes her mouth into his own. She’s so beautiful in her undoing. He is unraveling her layer by layer, revealing her vulnerable translucence until there is nothing left but her cries as she spasms in his arms.

Her climax is too much; Haurchefant can feel his control slipping through his fingers like melting snow. “Virrah, I’m going to cum,” he pants, voice coming out raspier than usual. The Elezen smirks, as if it will somehow hide the last vestiges of his crumbling willpower. “Where do you want me to finish? Your ass? Your tits?”

The Miqo’te looks up at him, pupils blown out yet also hazy, as if she’s not entirely there. Still reeling from her orgasm. “Inside,” she purrs.

He isn’t sure if he heard her right. “Are you sure?” he asks, brow knit with reservation. If she carelessly offers him such a thing…his better judgment will certainly not intervene. 

With the grace of a trained courtesan, she brings her face towards his and kisses him. The eyes that look at him are no longer hazy; instead, they are filled with lust and adoration--both of which he can’t say he’d mind seeing everyday. “I want you more than anything,” she breathes, and it almost breaks him. “Besides, I am a Miqo’te and you are an Elezen. The chances of a child being born from such a union are….”

He bucks his hips into her, wrenching a cry of pleasure from the woman. She’s plucked and tugged at the strings of his self-restraint this whole time. He needs them to snap, lest they warp him out of shape. They fray further and further under the strain, the pressure growing too much until the strings give and his vision goes white. A loud groan escapes Haurchefant’s lips as he bottoms out within her, feeling his seed pour into her womb.

When he pulls out, a small stream follows and he watches with rapt attention. She moves to cover herself and his leaking cum, but he gently grabs her hand to stop her. The Miqo’te shrinks into herself under his amused gaze. For some reason, watching him drip out of her fills him with pride. And arousal. He can already feel himself starting to get hard again.

Her eyes dip down to take in his length. “You’re already at half-mast.”

Haurchefant presses a chaste kiss to her temple, but even that simple action sets a fire burning in his belly. “I can’t help it,” he purrs, his voice washing over her smooth yet burning, like whisky. “You drive me wild, Virrah.”

She looks away. “I never thought I’d stoke such a reaction in a man. I’m…cute, not sexy.”

Cute half-whimpers leave her as he trails kisses up her ribs and onto her breasts. “Haven’t I reassured you enough that I’m attracted to you?” the Elezen chuckles. 

A small look of impishness crosses her eyes before she leans up and nibbles the shell of his ear. His throat bobs as a low groan forces its way from his diaphragm. “Ready for round two?” he asks, grinding his length against her entrance as she squirms beneath him. Wordlessly, she lets out a sound of agreement before he presses back into her, stretching her body once more. A guttural sound of pleasure leaves the Miqo’te as she opens for him. He can distinctly feel his own cum pressing against his head inside her. He gives a quick thrust and she gasps.

“If you keep pushing it deeper inside me so lewdly like that, I may just really become pregnant,” she says with a hint of a whine in her tone.

His pace picks up. “Yet you tighten up quite deliciously when you say that,” he murmurs in faux-concern. “Such a contradiction. Is everything all right, m’dear?”

Her face flushes, having been called out on her bluff. To be honest, she _likes_ the thought of him cumming inside her. The riskier the better. Just the idea makes her thighs wet. _Gods forgive me, my parents raised a whore._ “N-Not to dampen your enthusiasm,” she mews between his thrusts, “but I’m afraid having a child out of wedlock isn’t something either of us want.”

His fingers, large and calloused compared to hers, twine strands of her pink hair with the silken touch of a faerie. “Then marry me,” he says simply.

The tips of Virrah’s ears burn as she stiffens up, the feeling of his cock hitting against her even more deliciously with her rigidity. It hurts almost enough to bruise, but something about that makes it even better. “I…,” she stammers, mind alight with too many thoughts as he fucks her. The emotional part of her brain screams yes, of course she’ll marry him, while the logical part objects with, _You’ve only known each other for roughly half a year!_

“What? Not ready?” he groans, low and heavy. (Too much; the threads are slipping; she’s falling; falling; falling; _gone_.)

The Miqo’te lets out a choked sob from the overstimulation as another orgasm blindsides her. “Of course I’ll marry you,” she begins to cry out before somehow finding the willpower to stop herself. She’ll say anything at all--anything at all if he asks her to. It is only the last inkling of rational thought that stops her from uttering those words. The last bit of inhibition inside her, reminding her that she is the Warrior of Light. No, she cannot have another drink. What if people see her getting drunk? No, she cannot stay an extra day. What if something happens and she’s needed somewhere sooner than expected? No, she cannot be in a relationship. What if the other person begins to resent her for being gone all the time?

No, she cannot get married. No, she cannot have a child. For better or for worse, Virrah belongs to all of Eorzea. Its people will stretch her thinner and thinner in a never ending tug-of-war until at last she’s shredded into a million pieces like an errant slip of parchment. The Scions pull harder than anyone else; perhaps that is why she doesn’t feel particularly attached to any of them besides Y’shtola. They may call themselves her friends, but at the end of the day they will always want something from her. They will always continue to pull.

She’s so engrossed in her thoughts that only the warmth of Haurchefant spilling his seed inside her rouses Virrah to the present. The Elezen pants as he flops back against the sheets, an impressive sheen of sweat glistening his brow. He gives her one of those closed-eyes smiles, all teeth and goofy joy--more heartwarming than even his hot cocoa. “I won’t press you on the matter. Speak of it when you’re ready.”

Virrah curls up against him, fitted neatly against his chest, and suddenly he feels embarrassingly lanky. “Just tonight, I want to pretend I have no problems,” she says. “Just tonight, I want to delude myself into thinking your love is enough.”

Haurchefant can only rest an arm over her protectively, nestling her small frame against his as he feels himself rapidly giving in to sleep. “All that you ask and more,” he chuckles quietly before his breath slows into the measured pace of unconsciousness.


End file.
